


Too tired to sleep

by umbrafix



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Episode Tag, F/M, Late Night Conversations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-09
Updated: 2015-07-09
Packaged: 2018-04-08 13:24:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4306734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/umbrafix/pseuds/umbrafix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alternate ending to Season 2 episode 12 'Unnatural Habits' – if Jack had stayed to talk after they were interrupted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Too tired to sleep

“It's very late, Inspector,” Aunt Prudence says disapprovingly.

 

“Yes, yes, it is.” Jack turns back to Phryne, clearly disconcerted by the interruption. “But I'm glad we cleared up that detail, Miss Fisher,” he says, covering for his presence here. Or is he referring to what he started to say a moment ago – that he did not always do the right thing? Really, her aunt has the worst timing, Phryne thinks.

 

“So am I, Jack, so am I,” she agrees.

 

Phryne's earlier conviction, formed on seeing Jack comforting Rosie at the station, that he would want to stay with and take care of his ex-wife, has been shaken. Yet things between she and Jack feel no clearer now than they ever have. Jack moves reluctantly towards the door, and Aunt Prudence is thankfully distracted by the baby in the next room. Phryne doesn't want him to leave. Not with things as they are. Not after the night they've had.

 

“I don't think I will be able to sleep tonight,” she says in a quiet voice. She was thinking, before he arrived, of all of the things that could have gone wrong tonight. If she had gone alone. If she had not managed to get herself and the others loose. If Jack had not come – against orders and defying his superior and father-in-law. Ex father-in-law. If he had not shot Sidney before the bastard had shot her. Mostly, she thinks about the young girls who would be far out to sea already, and all those who would have followed. No, sleep will not come easily.

 

“Nor I, Miss Fisher.” Jack too sounds subdued, and she wonders if he is having similar thoughts. But then, he has many additional worries too; his job, his reputation. His ex-wife.

 

Phryne tilts her head inquiringly towards the parlour, and he nods ever so slightly. The idea of being able to unwind with him, and of being able to finish their conversation, is an appealing one. She stops just inside the room and decides that the overhead lights would be too bright for her mood, and for the quiet confidences she hopes to share. It is too late for a fire. Instead, she fumbles through the room by the light from the hall, laughing at herself as she bumps into the back of a chair, and finds the small lamp by touch. The dim light is perfect.

 

Jack stands in the doorway, watching her. She feels the warmth of his regard as though it were a tangible thing, and the presence of whatever it is that is always there, between them. Just beyond him, she sees her aunt bustling around in the room across the hall. She will have to deal with that situation first.

 

“I'll just be a moment, Jack,” she says, and moves towards him in the doorway. He doesn't step back, doesn't make room for her, and so she deliberately brushes her upper body against his as she passes, her arm grazing his chest. She feels the ghost of his hand gliding down her back as she crosses the hall, and is uncertain if she imagined the touch.

 

“Aunt P?” Phryne smiles to find her Aunt Prudence fussing happily over the baby. Her aunt displays kindness in the most unusual situations, a fact which endears her to Phryne over most of her other relatives. She had rather hoped that her aunt might take a shine to the new babe and his mother – with all the tragedy of this affair it would be good to see things end well for at least one of the girls.

 

“Yes, dear?” her aunt says distractedly.

 

“I still need to talk over some things with Inspector Robinson, so we'll be in the parlour. Don't wait up for us.”

 

Her aunt looks up sharply at this. “Phryne! It's very late - it would be quite improper!” The baby stirs at her aunt's loud voice, and she hushes him. Phryne is quite sure Jack must have heard her as well.

 

“Jack put his career and his life on the line to come after me today, Aunt!” she says spiritedly, though trying to keep her voice low for the baby's sake. Honestly. She's just come back from a ship which was selling girls into slavery, where she was in danger of being killed herself, and her aunt is worried about her talking with Jack in the parlour. “We're both more than a bit shaken by this whole thing,” she adds, which is true, but it doesn't hurt to play on her aunt's sympathy a little too.

 

“Of course you are, dear.” Her aunt softens. And Phryne does understand that Aunt Prudence only has her best interests at heart, it's just that she and her aunt view the world, and what really matters in it, in very different ways. “I just thought – it might look a little-”

 

“I really don't care tonight, Aunt P, I really don't.” Phryne crosses her arms over her chest, feeling slightly mutinous. There's only so much she'll take in her own house. And she's already feeling bitter that her aunt interrupted whatever Jack was going to do or say a few minutes ago.

 

“Well.” Her aunt seems to realise she won't be moved. She refolds some clean linen by the baby's make-shift cot, and then visibly deflates. “Good night, then.” Phryne kisses her aunt's cheek, and leaves her to it.

 

She goes back to the parlour, and watches Jack for a moment from the same spot as he stood in earlier. He has seated himself at one end of the couch, leaning forwards with his elbows resting on his knees, turning his hat in his hands. He looks as exhausted as Phryne feels. She wonders for a moment if, were she to turn out the lights, they could sleep in here undisturbed until morning.

 

She enters the room, the door closing with a quiet click behind her, and Jack looks up at the noise.

 

“Courting scandal, Miss Fisher?” he asks, with a nod at the door.

 

“Trying not to disturb the baby.” It's a very good reason, but the truth is that she wants to be cut off from the world for a little while, and Jack's company while she does it sounds heavenly. She does not want them to be discovered by anyone who would infringe on the companionship she finds she sorely needs tonight.

 

“Ah.” His lips twitch slightly in amusement. “Nothing to do with your aunt, then?” She shakes her head, mock-sternly, and moves to join him, one hand lightly holding her robe closed at her chest. She sits gingerly, several rather impressive bruises from the night's adventure reminding her of their existence. Without looking, she knows that he is cataloguing her movements, and that his keen eyes will not have missed anything.

 

Seeking to distract him, Phryne returns to something that has been on her mind since that moment at the police station. “Will Rosie be alright?” she asks. She has no great affection for the other woman, but she cannot imagine what it must be like to lose father and fiancé in one blow, and to find out that they have been doing such terrible things. If it is also a question which might set them back onto the track of their earlier conversation, then that is entirely incidental.

 

“Rosie?” Jack seems momentarily thrown by her question. “Yes, she's – I took her to her sister's.” He contemplates his hat for a long moment, then puts it aside and sits back with a sigh. “I'm not sure what she'll do, with both of them found to be...” His voice becomes slightly rough, and Phryne remembers their conversation with George Sanderson, when Jack had sounded so betrayed.

 

“And you?” she asks softly.

 

“Me?” He seems perplexed.

 

“Well, you looked up to him. You've known him for a long time; he used to be your father-in-law.” Which is an still an odd thought, that Jack had once sat down to dinner with this man, had been part of his family. How must that feel?

 

“I don't know, Miss Fisher, I don't know.” He pauses, and runs his fingers across his brow in agitation. He sounds lost, and it makes her heart ache in sympathy. “I feel like everything I know has been turned upside down; the people I trusted aren't who I thought they were.

 

“The problem with this job, Miss Fisher, is that after a while you get cynical. You know that everyone has secrets, that people you know and like could easily be the ones behind the next crime. You see things everywhere.” Jack gives her a wry look. “Which drove Rosie crazy. If I commented that someone was acting oddly, or that something was suspicious, I got a lecture about being too much of a policeman all the time. She said I was just like her father.” He has to stop at that, and clear his throat before he can continue. “But even so, Miss Fisher, there are some people beyond suspicion, that you would never think-” His voice breaks off again, and they sit in silence.

 

“What about me?” Phryne says after a minute, suddenly curious. “Would you ever suspect me of murder?”

 

“You forget that I have seen you with a gun in your hands on far too many an occasion.” She can't help but smile at him for that.

 

“Entirely for my own protection, I assure you, Jack,” she says archly. It is, after all, dangerous being a lady detective, and she would hate to be in a situation where she couldn't act because she didn't have some means of protecting herself. She is not afraid to kill a man, if it will save someone's life. The first time was a long time ago, during the war, although it is not a memory she likes to think about.

 

“With the right motive, you would kill in a heartbeat.” She looks at up at him, amazed at this echo of her thoughts, and he smiles slightly, eyes kind and knowing. “You are very fierce when protecting those you love, Miss Fisher.”

 

And he's right of course. Phryne thinks of Jane, of Dot. She would kill anyone who was thinking about hurting them, even if it meant going outside the law, even if she went to prison for it.

 

“Well, there you go then,” she says blithely. “The world might have turned upside down, but at least you know I'm just as lethal.” She can't help but smirk a little as she says 'lethal,' the word triggering a memory of his reaction once to a particular dress. She admits to feeling some disappointment that he turned her down for a nightcap that day, though she has come to suspect he is playing a longer game. How dangerous does he considers her current attire, she wonders. She's really not wearing much underneath the robe.

 

“Indeed, Miss Fisher, I try never to forget how devastating you are.”

 

What a wonderful compliment! Moving her hand down to rest across her lap, she subtly tucks her thumb into the belt at her waist and tugs lightly. He deserves a reward. Or perhaps she does. It's hard to keep count, these days.

 

“Devastating? I rather like that.” She smiles devilishly at him and leans forward slightly. Her robe parts slightly at the top. He's normally very good at keeping his eyes on her face, even under extreme provocation, but now he lets them drop to her chest. Any smugness she feels is entirely justified.

 

Jack meets her eyes again and smiles, slow and deliberate. “You're impossible.”

 

“Surely merely improbable,” she parries. Jack shakes his head.

 

“Phryne.” His mood turns more serious, and he shifts towards her on the couch. She angles herself towards him in return, bringing her knees up onto the seat.

 

“Jack.” Without thinking, she reaches out and takes his hand, holding it between both of hers. He turns his palm up and opens his hand wide, as though she were going to read his fortune again. Playing along, she peers at his hand. “I don't see any martinis today, I'm afraid.”

 

“Ah, then all of my hopes for the future are dashed.” She glances up, and there's such fondness in his eyes that her heart beats a little faster. “Phryne, could I-”

 

“What, Jack?” she asks when it doesn't seem like he will continue. He withdraws his hand from hers, and laughs harshly. His mood is very changeable tonight – or perhaps he is just being more open than usual. She waits calmly, and eventually he speaks again.

 

“I was about to ask something most improper,” he says, voice full of self-derision, and his eyes flicker to the door. Is he expecting her aunt to burst in and admonish them for sitting too close on the couch? Is he afraid of the condemnation of the world at large were he to do something more?

 

“Why Jack,” she says, keeping her tone light, “you know I'm always up for something improper.” He draws back even further, and she regrets her teasing. “Jack, what is it?”

 

He is still for a long moment. “It was Rosie who wanted the divorce,” he says. “I would never – I mean, it wasn't much of a marriage for the last few years, more than the last few years, but I meant those vows.”

 

“I know you did,” she says seriously. From the moment they had spoken in his office once, and he had told her that a marriage was still a marriage, no matter what state it was in, she had known he was a man that would never betray his wife in any way.

 

“Tonight she told me she wanted to come back to me.” And now it is Phryne who withdraws to her end of the seat, curling up her knees to her chest. “She said that it had all been a mistake, that Sidney had deceived her and her father had told her to divorce me. She said she needed me to take care of her.” He pauses, and Phryne can hear from his deep breaths how much he's struggling with this. “But - It was her choice. She was the one who didn't want to try any more, who wouldn't even talk to me. She was the one who moved out. She was the one who pushed for a divorce.

 

“How could I go back to that?”

 

“I don't know, Jack.” Phryne says quietly. The deep emotion in his voice has unsettled her – who is she to give advice on this when she has such a visceral reaction at the idea of him going back to Rosie?

 

“It's not what I want, Phryne,” Jack whispers, and she can see that it costs him a great deal to admit that. Perhaps he did not truly know it until this moment, in this place, where he is free to speak his thoughts.

 

“What do you want?” It's a dangerous question, and she isn't entirely sure she's ready to hear the answer.

 

Jack closes his eyes, and leans his head back. “I want to be able to be myself, and not have to pretend to be the man she wants.” Phryne's chest hurts at the thought of Jack going back to Rosie, of the stilted conversations they would have around the dinner table, of her inevitably leaving him again - hurting him again – when things between them were no different. “I want someone who cares about me, and -” his voice becomes dispirited, as though this desire would be impossible to fulfil, “- someone who understands me.”

 

Phryne contemplates him for a moment, this brave, honourable, dedicated man, with his sly sense of humour and the scars he bears from the war. It is difficult for her to know if she truly wants what is best for him, or if her own desires bias her too much. Still, the last few minutes have taught her a great deal about the way that _he_ feels, and that is enough for this judgement.

 

“Then you shouldn't go back to Rosie,” she says softly.

 

“No?” he asks, and there are other questions in there, implications which perhaps scare her a little, but then she has never been one to run from things which frighten her. She once said she would not commit to any man, but for Jack Robinson she thinks she could be willing to adapt a little. It is more foolish, after all, not to change when you learn new things about yourself, and to stick to old ways just for the sake of it. Jack has changed too, and he does not fit with Rosie any longer.

 

“No,” she says firmly. He nods, and there's an easing of the tension in his frame. They sit in silence for a short while, as he seems to gather courage for something.

 

“There is one more thing I want tonight,” he says in a low voice.

 

“Is this the improper thing?” Phryne can't resist teasing, tilting her head to give him a wicked look from under her lashes.

 

“Yes,” he says, and her breath catches in her throat at his affectionate smile. “Miss Fisher-”

 

“What happened to Phryne?” she objects unthinkingly.

 

“Ah, but I call you Miss Fisher when you're being troublesome,” he says playfully.

 

“You always call me Miss Fisher.” He waits a beat for her to follow that to its conclusion, and she scowls at him.

 

Jack doesn't say anything further, but reaches out a hand to her. When she takes it, he tugs lightly, holding her gaze. She slides herself along the seat until she is closer to him. He doesn't stop until her side is touching his, and her breathing quickens in response. His arm slowly comes around behind her, as though giving her plenty of time to object. She doesn't move, waiting to see what he will do, and his hand smooths down her arm from her shoulder to her elbow, then falls lower to rest just above her hip. The touch feels almost unbearably intimate; his hand pressing warmly through her robe.

 

“Jack?” she says, angling her head back to see his face. He has a look of quiet confidence about him which is very attractive.

 

“This is what I want, Phryne.” His other hand comes up to gently pull her head to his shoulder, then strokes her hair. “May I sit here with you like this for a while?”

 

The thought of sitting here all night with Jack holding her is wonderful. She's tired and hurt, and knows that he is too – and that he needs this just as much as she does.

 

“Yes, Jack.” She shifts to be more comfortable against him, and slides her arm around his waist. “I find I am more than willing to risk the impropriety.”


End file.
